When the lads arose next morning, their eyes gazed with joy and wonder on the valley below, tinted with the rosy light of an ideal morning of early spring. The river was no longer a big stream held by well-defined banks.

“Look, Bill,” Tim exclaimed, with wondering eyes. “Lake Pepin has run over. All the woods are under water.”

The river was indeed almost two miles wide, overflowing in the forests, covering marshes and meadows, from bluff to bluff. Like a fiery red ball, the sun came creeping over the eastern bluffs, and a soft red tint was reflected from the great flood below the camp.

The campers found their canoe on high land where Barker had turned it over, but the flood had almost crept up to it.

In a very short time the travelers were off.

“Keep your eyes peeled for snags and driftwood,” the trapper cautioned Bill. “We have only one canoe and cannot afford a wreck and a spill.”

“You can depend on me,” Bill replied. “The water is much too cold for swimming. I want to stay in the canoe.”

Tatanka and Barker plied their paddles vigorously and Tim did his share, with a short light paddle.

At noon they made only a short stop for a cup of hot tea and a very light lunch, wishing to go as far as possible before camping.

About three in the afternoon, the trapper told the boys to look out for a good camping-place.

“We want to stop at a good spring,” he said; “this river water isn’t so bad, but good spring water is much better.”

“How can we find a spring!” the boys wanted to know. “We don’t know the country.”

“If you are wise campers you can always find a spring,” the old man instructed them. “Look for places where the high bluffs come down close to the water edge.”

Within an hour a high bluff came into view a mile down the stream, and the lads, who were getting both hungry and tired, expected to find a good camp-site. In this hope they were disappointed. The current surged along past the tree-trunks where rafts of driftwood and rubbish had collected, while masses of dirty white foam were held by the dead wood and rubbish. The place did not look in the least inviting, and the boys looked in vain for a clear bubbling spring.

“Where are the springs, Mr. Barker?” Tim asked timidly.

“Well, my boy,” the old man replied, “I reckon they are covered by the flood.”

“What shall we do for a camping-place?” Bill asked.

“Go on until we find one that suits us.”

“But if we don’t find one?”

“Then we camp at a place that does not suit us,” the trapper replied dryly. “Traveling down-river isn’t like living in town. We’ll just take things as they come.”

About five o’clock they came to a place where a small creek came in from the west.

“Bill, you had better steer into this bay,” the trapper suggested. “We’ll camp there for the night.”

“It isn’t a good place, Mr. Barker,” Tim ventured to say. “Look at all the dirty driftwood and the willow-bushes. We are getting into a swamp where there can’t be any springs.”

The trapper smiled. “May be,” he said to Tim, “we’ll find a good place and perhaps a spring, too. Everybody go slow now. Look out for snags, Bill, and let us land near the foot of that big ash.”

Within a few minutes all heavy packs were taken out of the canoe and the craft itself was turned over in a dry spot high above the water.

There was not only one spring, there were several coming out of the hillside and running into the small flooded creek.

“I knew we would find good water up this creek,” the trapper told the boys.

“How could you tell!” the lads wondered. “Have you ever been here?”

“No, I have never seen this place before, but I have seen many groves of black-ash and they only grow in cold, springy ravines. Wherever you see the slim gray trunks and the short spreading branches of black-ash you can find springs. Sometimes the flow is small and you have to dig out a little pool for your well, but good cool water always seeps and flows around the roots of the black-ash.”

Like every good leader, Barker had each man assigned to some special camp duty.

He himself was cook and baker. The Indian set up the tent and made the bed. Bill brought water and cut wood for the camp-fire, while Tim gathered dry brush and sticks for the cooking-fire and set out the dishes, which consisted of a tin cup and plate, knife, fork, and spoon for each man.

“We don’t need the tent,” Barker said to Tatanka. “It is not going to rain to-night and the miserable mosquitoes haven’t come yet. Just make a good bed on plenty of dry leaves and grass. The boys are very tired and we are all a little bit soft after our rather lazy winter.”

“What are we going to do if it rains?” Tim asked.

“Pull the canvas over our heads,” the old man answered with a serious face, “and if it rains hard, we’ll get wet. But it isn’t going to rain.”

The lads wondered how h............